


Midsummer's Eve

by Jenwryn



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Golden Age (Narnia), Romance, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-17
Updated: 2008-07-17
Packaged: 2017-10-02 13:04:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenwryn/pseuds/Jenwryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Midsummer's Eve is the one night that Peter and Lucy set aside for themselves. [Grown-ups-in-Narnia Era]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Midsummer's Eve

The music rolls around the dancers, pouring amongst them like silver strands of fluid emotion. Lucy has always fancied that music must be coloured silver, cool and magnificent like mercury, and yet so very alive. She leans back in her throne and watches them, right leg crossed over the left and her foot tapping cheerfully in rhythm with the lilting beat. Her eyes are shining, though she’s not conscious of it, but she _can_ feel the warmth of the wine pushing pinkness upwards from her shoulders to her cheeks, heating her, as it were, from the inside out. She loves the music and she loves the dancing; delights in watching the court as they curl and sway in complicated patterns across the dance floor. Usually she would be out there amongst them, passing herself from the arms of one to the next, drinking in the universal enthusiasm. But tonight is Midsummer’s Eve, which is different, with it’s own sacred, wonderful, unspoken private traditions. And so she feasts her eyes, instead of her limbs, and watches as silks of blues and golds make moving art before her.

Edmund is over by the balcony, a gaggle of luxuriously dressed admirers around him, where the wine is flowing freely. Susan is reclined and talking. Now and then the musicians pause to drink and breathe, and Susan’s voice wanders in through the space of stillness. It’s always surprising how little she dances, surprising, because everyone knows how beautiful she is when she does. But she tired early of the music and has withdrawn herself to one of the many open rooms off of the Great Hall, the starlight no doubt pooling in through the windows and bathing her as silver as the Lucy imagines the music to be. The youngest Queen smiles at the thought.

Peter watches her smiling. The High King of Narnia is seated, too, in his throne, is as comfortable there as if he had been born to it which, perhaps, he was. One of his feet, like Lucy’s, moves in time to the music, as does the goblet he holds, loosely balanced in one hand. Now he drinks deeply from it, and looks at his sister as she throws her head back and joins in with the troubadour’s song, her alto harmonising with the singer's tenor like a warm embrace. She’s so beautiful in the candlelight and her skin glows gold. Peter knows that you aren’t supposed to have favourites when it comes to your family but it can’t be helped. Lucy is his and he, he knows, is hers. There’s something about them, the pair of them, which works so well in unison, like the way her voice tilts and wanders in time to the musician’s. And tonight is Midsummer’s Eve, with it’s unspoken joys…

The song changes and Lucy stills her singing down into a sunny, soft laugh. She turns slightly and their eyes meet. Peter leans and places his goblet down beside his throne, before rising slowly to his feet with the grace of a king and a warrior. Lucy watches, laughter lingering in her eyes, as he comes to her. He halts and bows lightly, with the whisper of a grin, and proffers his hand. “Will you dance, Lu?”

In truth, he doesn’t need to ask it and she, with her quiet wisdom, knows full well that he doesn’t need an answer. She reaches up and takes his hand in hers, running her small thumb along the edge of his palm, feeling the roughness and the steadiness it. There is nothing so secure in the world as Peter’s hold on her. She smiles, and rises likewise to her feet.

The music swells around them as they move onto the dance floor, hand in hand, and the other dancers give way to them without so much as a murmur, for it is Midsummer’s Eve and the rules are different tonight. For a moment Lucy sinks into the silver of the tune, and Peter sinks into the depth of her rapture, and then he places her in his embrace, and together, they dance.

The court falls hushed on all sides and watches them, their High King and their merry Queen, as they move as one, lost in each other, away and beyond from the rest of the universe on this, their Midsummer, and it is as though the very light around them swells even as the music does. Nothing, at this moment, nothing, in this world, is closer than they are, there, and nothing between them. Not a soul speaks, not to them, nor against them. It is never discussed, except in the bright smiles that the watching eyes cast upon each other, coloured gold by the reflected emotions of the dancing couple. Never discussed, for some questions should not be asked; some things are too precious for that.

And the music rolls on…


End file.
